The Elven King
by Trinity Thine
Summary: (Legolas Alternate Universe). Aragorn wasn't the only member of the Fellowship who ran away from his past, let alone his destiny to become king. NO SLASH. Legolas/Tauriel.


**This story caught me randomly off-guard one night after re-watching a Disney classic (**_**The Lion King**_**) and I knew I just couldn't resist the temptation. **

**Also, I can't stress enough on how DIFFERENT I intend to make the original **_**"Lord of the Rings" **_**storyline for this fic.**

**So, without further adieu, I give you **_**"The Elven King." **_

**NOTE: All rightful ownership belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and Disney.**

_**Chapter 1**_

There comes a time, when a child (no matter the sex) is told of the great stories revolving that of Middle Earth. Stories that were at first, if you were an unbeliever, conceived to be nothing more than a good list of tales full of everything you could imagine for a good story. Tales that would often leave the children awake all through the night when their fathers would leave them to sleep, their eager minds anxiously anticipating on how the plot would go and end come the night after.

But this story about to be told, however, is not one of imagination, but of legend. The subtle adventures behind the Great War of Middle Earth, and of the person who played a hand in restoring it to its former glory and peace.

For he was not a man, only an elf.

His name is Legolas.

And this is his story.

**~xXx~**

_Mirkwood, of the Third Age_

It was a breech birth; the pain beyond anything Evalura had ever imagined as she remained aware of the midwife's continuing encouragements. One more push? Maybe two? Of just how much more suffering, she jokingly thought, was she expected to endure before meeting her firstborn?

"Just the head now, milady... almost there... your child is almost born. Now is the time where we must take great care."

Evalura nodded, drawing in a panting breath, her fingers clenching tightly into the sheets beneath her. The candlelight threw huge shadows up to the ceiling, strange, leering shapes that were oddly threatening despite the fact that only she, the midwife, and one other assistant were occupying her and her husband's chambers.

In that last moment of thrusting anguish, Evalura gritted her teeth as a feral groan tore its way from out of her throat, golden locks of thick hair hanging damp from perspiration as a great bursting, tearing sensation ripped through her, until finally... peace.

"You have a son, my Queen," the midwife announced, her voice full of happiness despite its calm-like quality as she held up what looked to be like a wailing, tiny bloody goblin in her hands.

A son.

_My son_.

The midwife quickly began to wash the babe, her second assistant helping her queen to sit up comfortably against the pillows before the she returned with the newly cleaned, wrapped up infant to her side. "Your son, my lady."

When Evalura finally beheld the little one who she had been so anxious to meet for almost a year now, it was as if words alone could not describe the wonder, the euphoria, of what she now carried within her arms instead of her womb. This was_ her _child. One that she and her king had created out of love. The greatest of all creations.

"Shhhh," she lightly began to bounce him in order to abate his quieting fusses. "It's all right. Your nana is here. Your nana loves you." The whispering words were followed by a smile as he squinted opened his eyes, as if searching for the face of those comforting words.

Once the afterbirth had been delivered and taken care of, the door to the chamber flew open as Thranduil, son of Oropher, great Elven King of the Mirkwood Realm, strode inside. His brown eyes beholding the sight of his beloved, and then to the child. His child.

Mouth set, he slowly approached them, his tall frame hovering over the side of the bed as he stared down into the beautiful shining face belonging to his wife, the smile she wore dispatching any hidden fears he had only hours previously during the childbirth.

Carefully, Thranduil sat down next to her, mindful of her legs. A small portion of his long, light hair hanging over one shoulder and Evalura sighed, her hand caressing the side of his face. "Look," she quietly admonished, holding up the babe for him to inspect, her laughter quiet as he leaned in even closer to do as she bid. "A son."

A son. Despite the overwhelming feeling of pride he felt for having sired a future heir to his house, Thranduil was churning with nervousness. His own father, Oropher, had never been affectionate, and even when he was, it was only to acknowledge whatever military or political accomplishment he had gain for his sire's use. Whether he had truly loved his son or not, Thranduil would never know until the Valor would call him home to his ancestors.

But as for his _own_ son, there was no denying it. Just like Evalura, Thranduil had fallen in love all over again. Perfect. The infant was perfect to his eyes in every single way imaginable. From his little bald head to his tiny feet.

"A son..." with one long finger, Thranduil caressed the babe's cheek, chuckling when he slightly opened his mouth as if to seek nourishment.

When Evalura handed the infant over to him, Thranduil could never remember a time where he'd ever held something so fragile and precious. With one hand carefully supporting the babe's neck, he brought his son up for a kiss, loving the newborn smell of him. _"You are a child of blessing, my little one," _he spoke the words in Sindarin, the Elvish language, and gently kissed the small forehead again. "Legolas... Prince of Mirkwood."

From beyond the doorway a shadowy figure lingered before silently disappearing from whence it came.

**~xXx~**

A month later, a ceremonial rites was held in Mirkwood. A day where the Elves from every Middle Earth kingdom would come to pay their uttermost respects to the new prince of Mirkwood that would one day follow in the mighty footsteps of his benevolent father's. There would be gifts, along with a sumptuous feast to follow, and the king and queen couldn't have been more happier to see their allies and friends sharing this special day with them.

It was also on this day that Morgar, Thranduil's younger brother, had begun to seeth in earnest as he watched, from above and behind the safety of the palace window, as the Lady of Light, Galadriel, and her husband Celeborn offered their blessings to that of his brother and queen and- here he clenched his teeth roughly- his _nephew_. The very one who had stolen his place in line to rule!

It was no secret that Morgar coveted the throne of Mirkwood, having coveted it ever since his brother had ascended to king nearly a millennia ago. For years, Thranduil had held off begetting a child with Evalura, and while he knew it was a such a shameless wish, Morgar had been confident that the queen was infertile or that Thranduil never had the courage to raise an offspring of his own. After all, who could blame him? Their own father had never deserved that title of a male parent since the moment they were old enough to remember.

But now...

Bellowing in rage, Morgar slammed the flat of his palm against the window, watching as his brother mingled amongst the crowd of admirers and friends, a small smile on his face as Evalura hooked an arm around his. Their child safely snoozing away against her side where she tucked him.

This wasn't fair! His_ life _wasn't fair! For the bastard that he was, Oropher had always shown favor towards Thranduil. The tallest. The strongest. And what was he? The runt of the litter born some two-hundred years after his brother, lanky and shorter, with dark hanging locks of ill-kept hair and slender face, but just as eager for a father's acknowledgement.

And yet all that he'd done had been in vain, for regardless of what he'd considered great achievements, Oropher would always have his eyes set on having Thranduil rule in his stead.

And all because he was the bloody eldest!

But he would change that. Oh yes, Morgar burned with thought, turning away from the window least he vomit with disgust from having to witness yet another undying affection to his brother and nephew from some random loyal subject.

Things would change.

**~xXx~**

From below in the palace courtyard, Evalura suddenly halted, her eyes trailing up towards the window belonging to Morgar's room. She frowned, not liking the feeling one bit. Despite having known him since childhood, Morgar had been the least of her favorite companions in the kingdom.

"What is it?" Turning her head, she caught the worried look in her husband's face.

"Nothing," she clung to him tightly, throwing one last glance to the towering window before they moved towards the next group of people.

"Evalura."

With a small sigh, she stopped once more, facing her patient husband as she did so. "Morgar." That was all she needed to say.

Thranduil looked away. He'd be lying if he said that the absence of his brother for his son's ceremony did not sadden him, but a part of him could not help but be a bit angered as well. Morgar had made it perfectly clear since the night of his son's birth that he would want nothing to do with Legolas, and all because of a childish jealousy at wanting to become king in his stead. Unlike him, Morgar had never been shouldered with the responsibilities on what it took to rule a kingdom, to rectify justice, to withhold political values. It was a challenging charge, one that his impatient brother would never be able to handle without risking dire consequences.

"I'll talk to him," he promised, having resumed his good-nature smile as Lord Elrond and his wife approached them next.

**~xXx~**

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up."

Thranduil frowned, his powerful frame hovering in the open doorway of his brother's keeping.

Looking over his shoulder, Morgar smiled as he flipped another page of one of his many scholarly books, having stayed comfortably within his homely tunic instead of a traditional one if he were to attend today's event. "Now that you're here, I can finally ease my mind into peace knowing that whatever retribution you're about to give me is about to take hand. _Fire away, brother. Fire away_." His Elven words were full of sarcasm as he chuckled to himself.

Ignoring his brother's words, Thranduil said, "Evalura and I didn't see you this evening for Legolas's ceremony. Were you perhaps, detained?"

"In my own kingdom? Hardly. My absence was by my own accord." Gracefully setting his work aside, Morgar poured two glasses of red wine. He offered one to his brother, who silently refused, and shrugged. "So what if I missed it? It's not like anybody will care once it passes." He set the unused drink aside.

"_I_ care, Morgar." Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "You were suppose to be there. To offer _your_ blessing."

"Blessings come and go just like the rest of us." Morgar waved him off, taking a long sip. "If that displeases you, then get on with your rebuke. I grow bored already."

"Don't test me, Morgar." Here they slowly began to circle each other, the king standing a head taller than that of his brother, his sword strapped faithfully to his side regardless of the traditional robe he wore. "This was an important day for my family, and whether you like it or not, you are a part of that family. As is Legolas. _Your_ future king."

Just as he knew it would, the words had done nothing but stir up his brother's irritation, which he quickly hid behind a sneer, while replying, "Then to quote our dear dead father... I really don't give a battle-fuck."

And with those biting words, he swept past Thranduil, but not before being yanked back by the arm.

"Hold it," Thranduil hovered over him, his lips curling with anger as he gripped his brother tightly. "We're not finished yet."

"I believe we are," Morgar calmly replied, already used to the fact that his brother would always be able hold him down physically. "Unless you'd rather start something we'll both regret, I suggest you release me. Remember, as you so kindly pointed out only moments ago, this day is for Legolas. _Your_ family."

Opening his mouth, Thranduil was soon interrupted as a timid voice called from within the doorway, and he turned. There a servant came into view, but quickly bowed his head at the sight of his liege locked into what looked to be a heated discussion. "My apologies, but the queen asks of you."

Not wanting to ignore his wife, Thranduil released Morgar, none too gently, and hissed, "This isn't over."

And with a whirl of his robe, the great king vanished after his servant.

Touching his sore arm, Morgar could only grin. "On that we can agree on, brother. On that we can agree on."

**~xXx~**

**Feedback is always appreciated.**


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